The Camelot Grail
by Juliana Brandagamba
Summary: In which Geoffrey finds a document, Arthur becomes superstitious, and Merlin is dragged along on a Quest that looks all set to be very interesting indeed.
1. Chapter 1

**Come, friends, round the fire: evening is falling, and the night is cold, and what better occupation than a tale to warm your hearts? It is an old tale, older than you can imagine, and the events have passed into legend, and even into myth; there are Grail-romances aplenty, all of them different, and yet none of them are quite correct. You must judge for yourself if this Grail story – unpolluted by the anachrony of the Crusades, unpolluted by all who came since – is any better or worse than the others. The one thing I know is that it remains nearly untold – this is the tale of the Camelot Grail, from the pen of Geoffrey of Monmouth, whose narration I am very much inclined to trust, for he apparently had an important position in Camelot's court, and access to all of its lore and documentation.**

 **Dear friends, do not shuffle; I know that my introduction has been long, but it was required, lest the apparent inaccuracy to the well-known legend were commented upon. Oh! you are here purely for the story? Do sit back, then, friends, and let me begin.**

* * *

Geoffrey of Monmouth had been Camelot's record-keeper for longer than anybody could remember – including Gaius, who had been Court Physician since the dawn of time, if the castle-folk were to be believed. Geoffrey's was a curious job, cooped up in a dusty room that few ever visited, sometimes just sitting at his desk, sometimes writing, and sometimes, for dramatic effect, poring over a dusty old tome with his face half in shadow. The handful of people who did come, and who weren't royalty, never paid him much attention: he was just _there_ , as much a part of the furniture as the haphazard shelves and the myriad heavy volumes, as the creaking desks and chairs that looked as if they had existed before the fall of Rome.

Sometimes he stood up, and ventured between the shelves. He knew the books' arrangement like the back of his hand now; he had not read them all (though he was almost there), but he had run his fingers over their spines, brushing off clouds of dust, trying to reveal the titles that had not been viewed for a long time now. Sometimes he looked lovingly at them, lifted one from its alcove, cradled it almost. Occasionally his curiosity would be piqued to the extent that he would take the book over to his desk, and spent the next few hours reading it. But usually he just revelled in the dusty scent, the browned writing, the crisp spine. Some people said of Geoffrey of Monmouth that he had never loved a person as much as he loved his books. He himself would have admitted that there was a certain truth to that.

That particular day he had wandered further than he usually did, into the next room, which few did not realise existed, and which was accessible only with his permission. Some of the volumes here were those that nobody would have read even if they had had the chance. _The History of Paving and the Mediterranean Influence on Flagstones. A Record of the Farmsteads of Albion, 412-456._ He didn't know which poor scribe had been made to copy such thrilling volumes out, but he reckoned that it had been a punishment. Beyond these dull books were, in stark contrast, some very interesting ones indeed: the most valuable of the lot, the ones he didn't like people looking at unless they really needed to. Some of them were worth that much solely because of the gorgeous handwriting inside; in the case of others, it was the information they held.

He meandered to the other side of the room, bent down – feared he wouldn't be able to get back up again, but ignored it for the moment – and began to look through the books on the bottom shelf. That was when his eye fell on an unfamiliar volume.

Perhaps it had just been too dusty last time he had been here, and something had brushed against it, revealing the title. He would have remembered a title like _The Fall of the House of Pendragon, and Other Startling Prophecies_.

It was an old book, so old that it was less a book, more than a bound collection of loosely-stitched scrolls of paper. A heady cloud of dust flew straight up his nose as he pulled the volume from the shelf. The resultant sneeze surprised even him, and he hoped that the people on the next floor down hadn't heard it. With a glance about him, as if he were robbing his own library, he tucked the book under one arm and took it over to the nearest desk. This looked like it might be not only interesting, but also essential reading.

Half an hour later, he had scarcely scratched the surface, but nevertheless he managed to draw himself out of his reading, pull out one of the scrolls, and, claiming to be on extremely urgent business, head straight to the quarters of the King himself.

* * *

King Arthur spent a lot of time reading for someone who didn't much like reading. Naturally, as a great monarch, he was required to keep up with the latest news of foreign affairs, home affairs, and whatever else should be sent to him on paper, usually in the form of a long manuscript such as the one he was currently scrutinising.

It was evident to Merlin, who was standing in the corner, and watching his master out of the corner of his eye, that this manuscript had not been written recently. Indeed, it looked somewhat ancient. Leastways, Merlin was mildly intrigued, but not enough to question him about it, for the moment at least.

He dusted the mantelpiece, cleaned the windows and mopped the floor, and then, on realising that Arthur was still reading the manuscript, asked:

'What is it?'

Arthur started, and at length said pointedly, 'None of your business, _Mer_ lin.'

'It's just, it seemed interesting, and I was interested.' Merlin shrugged. 'I was going to offer to help you read it, because you were spending so much time over it that I thought you were finding it difficult, but –' and if he never got to finish his sentence, it is because narrowly dodging a flying paperweight can turn one's attention rather. 'Sorry. Sire. I... what do you want for lunch?'

'Is there a choice today?' asked Arthur.

'Same as yesterday, or the same as the day before,' replied Merlin.

'So there isn't a choice.'

'There also isn't much food. You know how difficult this year's been.' Merlin gestured vaguely towards the frosted window. 'If you're going to insist on fruit every meal, expect shortages.'

'Bring me whatever there is.'

Merlin hesitated, still extremely curious, but said nothing and left the room. It wasn't a good idea to disturb Arthur when he was in one of _those_ moods.

* * *

He returned with two cobs of bread, a pat of butter, some jam and three rather sad-looking apples. When he entered the room, Arthur had evidently finished with the scroll, and was scrutinising a map that seemed to be mostly sea. Merlin squinted at it. It was not an area he was familiar with.

'Where are you going?' he asked, breezily.

Arthur scowled at him and folded the map so he couldn't see it.

'There's no use hiding it from me,' Merlin shrugged. 'If you end up going... wherever it is... I'll be coming with you. So you may as well tell me.'

His logic was, Arthur realised with a sigh, as impeccable as usual. He was far too good at persuasion for a servant. 'We are not going anywhere. This is ridiculous superstition and in a few minutes I shall be asking you to return this to the Hall of Records.'

He reached across and picked up the plate that bore his rather sorry lunch, and began to butter a roll. Merlin stood by his desk in the hope of finding out more just by being there; at last Arthur became fed up with being watched; he tied up the scroll and handed it to him. 'Here. Geoffrey knows where it goes.'

As soon as Merlin had left the room, he ducked into one of the window-alcoves and untied the scroll. A voice floated from within the quarters: 'And don't read that scroll; I expect you to return within two minutes!' Merlin jumped and, knowing that he wasn't going to get away with sneaking a look at this curious document, took it reluctantly to the Hall of Records.

* * *

Geoffrey of Monmouth was far too used to Merlin's presence. There were few other citizens in Camelot who visited the library quite so much, and he had to admit that he was quite pleased by this. He had on a couple of occasions tried to engage Merlin in conversation regarding the joys of books, but on those particular occasions the boy had happened to be in a hurry. He wondered what sort of things he liked to read. He rarely borrowed anything, merely read in the quiet of the back section, which had desks and chairs: seeing that somebody was actually using this section from time to time, Geoffrey had added a couple of cushions and an extra candelabrum.

This time Merlin was on business, however, which was obvious from the fact that he was holding the very book that had earlier been given to Arthur. The boy approached the desk, and, handing over this precious document, said:

'The king says that this is ridiculous superstition, and that he wants it putting back wherever it came from.' He tried to look apologetic but ended up just looking a bit jaded.

'Then the king does not know what he is dealing with.' Geoffrey startled Merlin with this statement; the old record-keeper stood, and, clutching the book to him, emerged from behind his desk, and swept out of the Hall of Records.

Merlin watched him leave, his interest now absolute. His mind, unbidden, began to concoct plans to get hold of that book; he dismissed these thoughts in mild annoyance, rather wishing he weren't so curious. It would save him a lot of bother. Then, figuring it would be best not to join Arthur when he was discussing these secret matters with Geoffrey, he decided he would sit and read until the keeper returned.

When he did, Merlin was disappointed to see that he was empty-handed and that his face was trying desperately to hide something. Therefore, despite everything, he had to give up, and hoped very much that he would find out eventually. News spread quickly, after all, among the gossip-mongers of Camelot, especially now that they were in a time of remarkable peace, and there was hardly anything to talk about otherwise.

* * *

 **You are shuffling again; perhaps you think that I hesitate because I have run out of story. That is not the case. I am inviting reflexion. Oh! was this not a suitable place to stop? Perhaps not. – How goes the story? Will you continue to sit with me, round this fire? I say, don't leave, my good lad, it is just getting interesting. For this time of remarkable peace is Camelot's Golden Age. – My dear girl, you are quite right, things rarely _do_ happen in Golden Ages. Is that a bad thing? – What do you think, though, dear friends? Shall I continue?**


	2. Chapter 2

**I am sorry to keep you waiting: this gentlemen here seemed to take my hesitation as an opportunity to go for more beer. He will be drunk, I think, before the tale is over. – No, dear girl, that is _not_ for the best. But where were we? Oh! the Golden Age of Camelot. How marvellous.**

* * *

Camelot, indeed, was in a Golden Age, or so they had optimistically called it not long after the defeat of the witch Morgana, in the hope that the joy and splendour that had sprung up would last forever, or at least long enough to merit the title of _age_. For it seemed that the war was over; their deadliest enemy was gone, and they had made peace with all of the neighbouring kingdoms; their king was glorious, their government as perfect as a government can be (which wasn't saying much, as some people were keen to snidely point out). Merlin, too, had to admit that he had been caught up in this reckless positivity. He couldn't remember a time in Camelot when he had felt so light-hearted, not in his usual happy-go-lucky way, but in a fashion that felt as though a great weight had been taken from his shoulders. He had started singing absent-mindedly as he went about his day, a habit that annoyed Arthur immeasurably, so he hadn't made any attempt to stop. (He had seriously considered it, though, when one of the Court Musicians had offered to teach him to sing in tune.) But everyone was happy, the kingdom was booming, and it really seemed as if this Golden Age might hold.

Call him picky, but he was starting to get bored. Not that he wanted there to be all-out war. He had had more than enough of war to last a lifetime. But he wanted a change, at least, and that was why he was so interested in this book that Geoffrey had been so keen for the king to read. If nothing else, it might bring about a change from the humdrum routine of servitude and castle gossip. He knew everything there was to know about the love lives of the knights, the quarrels among the servants, the comings and goings of the kitchen cat. He wanted proper _adventure_. His feet itched.

Fortunately, he did not have to wait long for the answers to his questions, though they came in a less than favourable fashion. The morning after the events concerning the mysterious scroll, he was awoken by the voice of Gaius calling his name.

'Merlin?'

As was his wont when he was sure it wasn't yet time to get up, he stirred briefly, rolled over and pretended he was still asleep.

'Merlin, wake up! Arthur is asking for you.'

The voice of Gaius cut through Merlin's dreams like a particularly sharp scythe, much to his dismay. His sleep, the best he had had in ages – and the best he would have, no doubt, for weeks to come – had been punctuated by the most magnificently vivid dreams. The latest one, in which he had managed to turn Arthur into an array of strange creatures, faded; Arthur the toad dissolved from view and was replaced by Gaius's face. For a moment Merlin wasn't sure of the difference. He blinked. The room slowly came into focus.

'Hullo, Gaius,' Merlin yawned. 'What time is it?'

'You'd better go and find Arthur,' Gaius said, ignoring the question. 'He wants you promptly this morning.'

It was only when Merlin had jumped out of bed and pulled on his overclothes that he realised how dark it still was. Gaius had set a candle on his dresser, but he could hardly see anything.

'Gaius,' he cried, 'what time does Arthur call this? It's not even the morning yet!'

Gaius said something meaningless by way of explanation, and Merlin, grabbing a bit of bread for his breakfast, hurried out of the door.

Arthur was waiting for him in extreme impatience, and had got ready in such a hurry that he had got his trousers on back to front. Merlin decided not to comment. Probably that would backfire later, but he felt an apology was more pressing; he was also keen to ask what exactly merited getting him out of bed at this ridiculous hour.

'Rise and shine,' Merlin said, in a mocking sort of tone.

'Ah, you're here. We've got a lot to do. I need my armour preparing, my best sword sharpening, my cloak rinsing, it's still filthy after the hunt the other day –'

'At this time of night?' Merlin protested.

'We haven't got any time to lose,' Arthur finished, throwing a bundle of clothes in his direction. And, before Merlin could put any more questions to him, he swung from the room. His trousers were still on back to front. Merlin stifled a laugh and began to inspect the clothes he had been tossed; they were evidently for washing, so he put them aside, and strode over to the wardrobe, meaning to take out Arthur's cloak. Just as he opened the door, he noticed, out of the corner of his eye, that the scroll that had so intrigued him lay open on the king's desk.

He knew that he would have to be told at least some of its contents eventually; therefore he went to the desk, bent over the paper and began to read.

It was in a language he understood, but only just. The yellowing borders of the page and the fading of the ink upon it bore witness to its age; once he had managed to decipher the scrawl, done in a clumsy and rather insistent hand, he found that its contents were deeply intriguing – if very peculiar. They told of a prophecy: it was convoluted, but, from what Merlin could make out, it said something about the Grail of the Kingdom of Camelot, and its restoration to the city.

Merlin frowned more than he intended to. He had never heard of the Grail of the Kingdom of Camelot, and he wasn't entirely sure whether that was a good thing or a bad thing, given that this document seemed to imply that it was missing. After a moment he flattened the page with his hand and continued to read.

The prophecy started to ramble for a long time about the supposed powers of the Grail, and, as it became increasingly clear that this was an artefact imbued with extraordinary magical powers, Merlin's curiosity was heightened. Unfortunately for his comprehension, the language started to become more and more florid – whether because of its antiquity or because the author was a terrible snob, he couldn't tell – and when he had finally reached the end of the script, his eyes worn out by deciphering its swirls, he sat for a moment almost in shock, before perceiving the shadow that had fallen across the desk, and realising that Arthur had re-entered the room without him noticing.

'I was going to explain everything later,' said Arthur: 'and my cloak is still dirty.'

'Sorry, sire.'

Merlin crossed the room, and picked up the offending the cloak; then, going over to the basin in the corner, he said:

'You'd think if Camelot was on the brink of collapse, we'd have noticed something by now.'

Arthur drew a breath, as if to reply, but found no words, and returned to whatever he was doing – admiring his reflexion in his sword, apparently.

'I know people like to talk about the "good old days" and all that,' Merlin continued, critical, 'but I don't think they ever actually existed.'

'Evidently we have been on a cliff-edge without realising,' said Arthur simply.

'Do you believe this prophecy, then?'

Arthur nodded.

'All of it?'

Arthur visibly hesitated before nodding again.

'What, you think a frankly dangerously magical object is directly linked to Camelot's welfare?' Merlin said, ironically.

'The document says,' said Arthur after a moment, 'that the Grail was forged in and for Camelot, long before the Purge, when the first king sat on the throne. Nobody knows if it was used for good or evil by the early kings, but the theory is that it is _part_ of the city, and that its removal will have a detrimental effect.'

'But it hasn't been in Camelot for centuries,' protested Merlin, 'if this document is to be believed.'

'Then maybe we don't realise how great Camelot is supposed to be.' Arthur glanced over at Merlin, who was half-heartedly washing the cloak whilst watching his friend's expressions attentively. 'Look. I thought it sounded ridiculous, but frankly Geoffrey is a lot more versed in Camelot lore than I am, and he was very serious about the apparent threat posed. I'm not superstitious, and I don't think Geoffrey is either. The issue is that far stranger things have happened, and the safety of my people is my highest priority. If there is any potential of a threat, it is my duty to Camelot and to my people to look into it.'

'And that merits getting me up at some ridiculous hour?' Merlin said, trying to joke. Arthur scowled, which just made Merlin more insistent. 'Shouldn't you make plans? Research things? Do you know where the Grail is at the moment? How to get to it? Who has it?'

'She's called Viviane and she lives in the Frankish kingdoms.'

Merlin looked rather startled.

'Well, we don't know that for sure, but all accounts seem to think it's her... So if we head for Brocéliande Forest...'

'Is that nearby, or –?'

'It's not the other side of the world.'

Merlin had folded his arms and was looking at Arthur very sceptically. For a moment he wasn't entirely sure how he was supposed to be reacting. It all felt like some elaborate prank that Arthur was trying to play on him, except that Arthur was a terrible liar, and therefore hopeless at pranks.

In this awkward hiatus, the King went over to his bed and picked up his belt; then, at last discovering the mishap with his trousers, he began to redress himself, properly this time. At length he said: 'I'm only taking a few men. This quest must not reach the ears of the people. I'm calling it an official visit to Deira.'

'That's in the opposite direction,' Merlin could not help but comment.

'Nobody will notice.'

'Who's going?'

'I am,' said Arthur, 'so you will obviously accompany me. I'm going to choose five or six knights of the Round Table, and possibly their squires.'

'And that's it?'

'That's it.'

'Isn't this a... very important mission?'

'It is, but we can't make a big thing of it until it's complete... What if the people come to learn that an object vital to Camelot's welfare has been in the hands of the Franks since time immemorial? Can you imagine the uproar?'

Merlin had to concede that he could very much imagine the uproar, and that he perfectly understood the king's reasoning, even if it did seem as if he might be putting himself and some of the kingdom's best men in danger. The one part he didn't understand was the suddenness of it all.

'This all seems very rash,' Merlin put in. 'How do we know that this document isn't a fake, or a trap, or something?'

'Geoffrey has compared this report with a number of other histories. The Grail itself is little mentioned, and its powers are, outside of this text, obscure, but it seems that the facts add up. I trust Geoffrey to have done his research.'

Arthur made this point by gesturing vehemently with his belt-buckle, before stopping to adjust the aforementioned belt around his waist. Despite everything, Merlin had finished washing the cloak, and, in the absence of any other orders, made to go and look at the scroll again. Arthur watched him, almost hesitantly; then, breaking an awkward and lengthening silence, he said:

'Getting out of Camelot for a few weeks will do me good. The whole business lately with the taxes is getting out of hand. Gwen knows more about the sentiment of the people than me. I think they'll be glad if she handled it in my place.'

'This isn't going to be a _holiday_ , Arthur!' Merlin spluttered. 'The Frankish kingdoms aren't exactly peaceful – and it'll involve a sea-voyage – and meeting with a witch to reclaim a highly magical object is hardly going to be a picnic.' He looked sideways at the king. 'Unless you've made it all up to get out of sorting out the economy –' Arthur began to object, so he added: 'I think you're just being overly superstitious.'

'I'm putting my people first. What if Camelot falls without this Grail? I'm hardly risking anything to confirm the legend, compared to what I would risk if I ignored the threat.'

Once again, Merlin had to admit that Arthur had a point. Yet something was still niggling at him, and for some reason he couldn't quite place it, until at last his eyes fell upon a phrase or two on the scroll, and, enlightened, he said:

'The Grail is magical... and you don't trust magic.'

This stopped Arthur in his tracks: not because he had not considered this factor, but because he very much had, and it was still weighing upon him; he did not meet Merlin's eye. The room seemed charged all of a sudden. The king felt an unbidden frown crease his face, and, still without turning, he said:

'No, I don't.'

'Then –'

'That is why we are going to tread _very_ carefully.'

'That's your security procedure?'

'What do you suggest?'

'Well... _not_ going, and seeing if anything bad happens?' Merlin said in an ironically revelatory sort of tone. 'I just think you need to sit down and think about it a bit –'

'Well, I don't, and I'm the king,' replied Arthur, very finally.

It was a poor excuse, and Merlin might have pointed this out, but it didn't much seem as if Arthur was listening to him. Merlin himself began to think over the matter; the first thing that came into his head was that he had wished for adventure, and that he was about to get it, and that you shouldn't wish for things, lest they come true. He wondered if this was his destiny catapulting him once again into something inevitable. He couldn't be certain of it, but it certainly felt as if something important was on the horizon: and much as he hated having to obey the fates and endanger himself that Arthur might tread his path to glory, he knew that he couldn't really refuse to act.

It was at times like these that he wished Kilgharrah were still in Camelot: the Dragon had been infuriating, yes, but it had been satisfying to have someone to vent to. The Dragon had at least listened to him; Arthur was as good as a brick wall, and anyway, it wasn't possible to tell Arthur all that was on his mind. The whole magic business would have been a step too far, at least.

What, then, were Arthur's thoughts? He _must_ have disapproved of the matter. Knowing that Camelot's welfare rested upon some ancient magical artefact was a blow to a king who had for so long opposed magic as a force for evil. Having said that, it wasn't _that_ long since magic had last been allowed in Camelot, and it was possible that Arthur was painfully aware of his predecessors' trust of the art. At any rate, he knew that he was less powerful than magic, else he would have nothing to be afraid of. So it was in his best interests to ensure that Camelot did not collapse through his own negligence.

What _was_ the Grail of the Kingdom of Camelot, anyway? That was the biggest sticking-point. Merlin had never heard of it – Arthur had never heard of it – Geoffrey, if he knew anything about it, had never mentioned it. Was it really so important?

Merlin gave up. He couldn't get any further for the moment, and Arthur was being more of a brick wall than ever: therefore he resolved to try to save his curiosity until later, and when he returned home he would ask Gaius about it. If anyone knew what was going on or what he ought to do, it was him.

* * *

'Have you ever heard,' said Merlin that evening, over a bowl of questionable, but comfortingly familiar, stew, 'of the Grail of the Kingdom of Camelot?'

Gaius furrowed his brow a moment, thinking. Then at length he said: 'The _Calix Cameloti regni_?'

'Come again?'

'The _Calix Cameloti_ is a legend – an obscure one, but a legend nonetheless –' Gaius pushed his spectacles up his nose. 'Why?'

'Oh, just something Arthur mentioned,' Merlin said offhandedly, watching his mentor's expression. 'Apparently it's quite important. Something to do with the welfare of the city?'

Gaius raised one eyebrow and said nothing for a few seconds. His eyes strayed towards his bookcases, as if he could read the books just by looking at them. 'It was a tale I once heard. I can't remember where from. You know that there was magic involved in the building of Camelot, and that Cornelius Sigan had a hand in it.' Merlin nodded, and frowned. 'Cornelius Sigan was expelled from the Court; we don't really know what happened. But he was of course succeeded by other powerful magicians. The legend says that three of them captured the soul of Camelot, and built an impenetrable vault beneath the city in which to keep it.'

'The soul of Camelot?' Merlin said incredulously.

Gaius waved his hand. 'It was probably a fairy-story. It certainly seems that way. But the legend goes that they also crafted an artefact – a Grail – to hold it, for at first the soul was formless and volatile. But once it was captured it imbued the Grail with magical powers such as have never been seen in Camelot before or since. Nobody knows what it could do, besides protecting Camelot. It was sealed in the vault, the location of the vault was kept secret, and since then it has apparently just been sitting there guarding the city.' He pushed his spectacles up his nose. 'I haven't heard anyone mention the story in a while, though all of the old stories involving magic haven't been in circulation for several years now, of course.'

'So you think it's just a fairy-story?' said Merlin.

'It's a legend, or a myth, at best.'

'What if it were true?'

Gaius stopped eating, and looked up at him. 'Does Arthur think it is?'

'Oh!' Merlin cried, 'he's absolutely convinced it is.'

'Curious.'

'And –' Merlin hesitated, and lowered his voice. 'Geoffrey gave him a document saying that the Grail hasn't been in Camelot for centuries, and that it needs to be restored sooner rather than later or the kingdom will collapse.'

'Geoffrey found a document –' Gaius frowned. 'What is this document?'

Merlin explained, briefly, what Arthur had told him, and what he had read of the mysterious scroll; during his narration, he watched Gaius's eyebrows disappear into his hair, and when he had finished, the old physician leaned back and did a good impression of being entirely astonished.

'And that,' said Merlin, 'is why he wanted me so ridiculously early this morning. He's been cramming the whole day with preparations. I wouldn't be surprised if he was saddling the horses as we speak. If we set out tomorrow at dawn, you'll know where we've gone.'

'This seems very rash of him.'

'You have no idea! I tried to talk him out of it, but you know Arthur.'

Gaius took his last spoonful of dinner, set down his spoon and stood. 'I'll try to talk to him. I don't know much about this Grail, but I do know that such a journey will require a lot of thought. I must also talk to Geoffrey, as well; if anyone knows what is going on, it will be him.'

* * *

When Merlin went to bed that evening (quite early, admittedly, given the time at which he had been woken up), Gaius still had not returned; and his dreams when at last he fell asleep so vividly featured a morning cavalcade, a succession of fields and inns, and a shining Grail, that it took him a long while the next morning to realise that he had not in fact partaken in an entire Quest overnight.

* * *

 **The night is growing, and I really must stop. See, the room is empty but for us; you all look terribly tired, and my voice is raw. Let me rest, and I shall continue when my throat is ready for it. Do return, for I shall continue as soon as I possibly can.**


	3. Chapter 3

**You are back! and I am grateful, for though I would fain tell this tale to an empty room, with an audience I am less likely to be accused of madness. – No, dear girl, I am _not_ mad. And nor is that gentlemen, despite all appearances. – Well! to the newcomers, welcome; I have not time for introductions, but I am sure that you will soon settle in.**

 **Indeed, I do believe I must clarify a few things before I begin... One of our merry guests last time round asked why Merlin had trouble comprehending the scroll and Arthur didn't: but nowhere did I hint that Arthur understood the scroll without the expert help of Geoffrey, who went through the entire thing with him before Merlin laid eyes on it, which I do believe was clarified. And to the guest who questioned why there were food shortages in a booming kingdom, I say only: no matter how good your economy, you will not be able to persuade an orchard to fruit in the dead of winter.**

 **I say! is that the time? I had best start, or I shall not say all I want to before you all grow tired and leave.**

* * *

Arthur's temperament was much improved the following day: that was the first thing that Merlin observed when, having got little out of Gaius ('Arthur will tell you'), he arrived more eagerly than usual at the king's quarters. He had expected to find his master fully dressed and ready to fling himself out of the door; instead he found him lazily shuffling out of bed, in no evident hurry.

'Changed your mind?' Merlin asked.

'What? – No, not at all. – Well, maybe about how urgent everything was,' Arthur considered, meandering over to his wardrobe. 'Get my regalia ready, would you? We have an important meeting this morning. But not before I've had a decent breakfast and time to think.'

'I presume we're still going on this Quest,' Merlin persisted.

'Oh! yes. But it will need thought. And planning. And given that the Grail's been out of Camelot for so long... a few days can't hurt.'

'You've seen sense.' Merlin grinned, knowing that Geoffrey and Gaius's argument had probably been the same as his had been the previous morning. 'What do you want for breakfast?'

'Preferably not bread and cheese.'

'I'll see what they have.'

After a breakfast that, though sparse, was not commented upon, Arthur pulled out a familiar-looking scroll and a pile of maps. 'The meeting this morning will be between a very select group of people. This is still a matter of the utmost secrecy outside of that circle. Understood?'

Merlin nodded.

'You will be coming along in your capacity as my servant, and because you will obviously be accompanying me, if we confirm that this Quest is necessary.'

'Obviously,' Merlin said, smirking a little. Arthur frowned at him. 'You still won't admit that you can't do anything without me,' he continued, after a moment.

'It isn't the done thing for a king to do his own cooking and prepare his own horse,' Arthur countered. 'And given the circumstances of the potential journey, it may well be that you are the only servant present for five or six men.'

Merlin groaned good-naturedly, and, as Arthur pulled on his clothes, he scurried down to the kitchens to find what was going in terms of breakfast materials. He came back with bread and cheese, as he had expected, and a small bit of news that had seemed rather concerning.

'You know Philippa in the kitchens?' he said, setting a sparse plate before the now-dressed king.

'Which one's she?' Arthur said; then, reconsidering – it didn't seem right for a king not to recognise his own subjects – 'She's the new one, right?'

'Small, dark hair, quite pretty –' Merlin waved a hand vaguely. 'Anyway... she seems to know something about this whole affair, despite you saying you've kept it secret.'

'What does she know?' said Arthur at once.

'I don't know... probably not much. But still,' said Merlin after a moment, 'she said that you probably needed to get your strength up, for such an important meeting.'

'How the hell does she know about the meeting?' cried Arthur. Merlin did not mention that Arthur's very loud voice probably didn't help. 'I haven't even told the knights about it yet.' He looked at Merlin out of the corner of his eye. 'Unless you've been blabbing –'

' _I_ didn't know about the meeting until I came here this morning!' protested Merlin.

'No, you didn't,' considered Arthur, in a dissatisfied sort of manner.

'Maybe she just guessed,' Merlin said, lamely.

'Impossible.'

'She probably doesn't know anything about the content of the meeting.'

'That's a risk we can't afford to take.' Arthur pushed the rest of his bread into his mouth, choked a bit, and stood. 'I'm going down to the kitchens. That girl needs questioning before she blabs to the entire servant population of the castle.'

'Servants don't _blab_ ,' said Merlin at once: 'we're good at keeping secrets.'

Arthur just smirked a little, with a very pointed glance in Merlin's direction, and indicated for his servant to follow him.

* * *

The castle kitchens were one of the most charming among Camelot's hidden jewels: or so the servants thought so, anyway. It was full of cheer at all times of day – and full of the smell of bread baking and meat roasting, which is if anything better. The royal quarters, the knights' rooms, they all seemed dull in comparison: no, if you wanted to see the spirit of the castle, you had to come down here, hear the chatter, see hands working faster than you can think, countless pots on counters, over fires, carted by well-trained hands; the incessant comings and goings, every trip for a different purpose; here was where all of the arteries met.

It was rare that people more important than a servant came down here, and so, as Arthur entered, there was quite a stir among the cooks and the serving-girls. They redoubled the effort they were putting into their work, brushed a blanket of flour from the front of their aprons; at length, when word had travelled the length of the kitchen, the volume of chatter lowered noticeably, and the nearest cook to the king bowed before him and asked if she might be able to help him.

'I'm looking for Philippa,' he said.

His eyes flicked about the room, conscious of the attention he was drawing, wishing he could just have a normal conversation for once in his life.

'Ooh,' the young woman said, thinking a moment: 'ah, yes, Philippa... She took up Sir Edgar's breakfast, if I'm not mistaken.'

'Thank you,' replied Arthur, and turned to go.

'Sire,' said the woman suddenly.

He looked back at her, and she lowered her voice.

'Between you and me, sire... She's a strange one, that Philippa. Too curious, if you know what I mean. I should keep an eye on her. I certainly have been doing.'

Arthur raised an eyebrow, nodded and thanked her; then, not quite knowing what to say, he bade a half-hearted goodbye to the kitchen-maids and left, with Merlin at his heels.

* * *

'Have you noticed anything strange about Philippa?' Arthur asked at once, when they were on their way again.

'I hardly know her,' Merlin replied: 'she's very new.'

'What do you suppose she meant by _strange_?' Arthur persisted.

Merlin shrugged. 'Plenty of people are strange. Sometimes that's a good thing.'

'This didn't seem like the good sort of strange.' Arthur lowered his voice, glancing about the corridor, which was empty. 'And if she knows about the meeting...'

Merlin didn't have an answer, and voiced this; they continued walking in an awkward silence, and at length came to Sir Edgar's quarters. Arthur knocked, rather too loudly: and, after being invited in, startled through his appearance the poor knight within, who had only just got out of bed.

'I'm looking for one of the kitchen-maids – Philippa,' said Arthur. 'Apparently she was bringing you your breakfast.'

'You've just missed her,' Edgar replied, pointing to his table, on which a plate of food had been set.

'But we've just –' Arthur exchanged glances with Merlin. 'Did she say she was going anywhere else?'

'Only back to the kitchens, sire.'

Arthur groaned, and thanked Edgar without particularly meaning it; then he and Merlin left the room, and went once more on the trail of this mysterious servant-girl who, Merlin thought, was probably innocent, and merely careless; he wondered if they would spend the whole morning chasing her all over the castle; but Arthur couldn't be stopped when he had an idea occupying his mind, and so his servant scurried after him without saying a word.

* * *

It was nearly time for the secret meeting by the time they returned to Arthur's chambers. Philippa had managed to elude them during their entire search, purely by doing her job efficiently; Merlin had at last managed to persuade the king to leave the matter for the moment – 'I doubt she knows anything important' – and to go and prepare for the more pressing item on the agenda.

Therefore, once Arthur had dressed himself in his regalia, and Merlin had been loaded up with all of the auspicious scrolls from the previous day, they made their way over to the Great Hall, which, when they entered, was already occupied by a number of men. The usual smattering of servants and nobles was absent; the only people there were Geoffrey of Monmouth, Gaius, and the four baffled knights that Arthur had selected without quite telling them what was going on.

They all looked up at the king's entrance; the latter dismissed the guards at the doors, which he closed and bolted. Merlin was asked to check the side-doors, and close them as well, which he duly did, before taking his place behind the chair at the top of the table, and setting down the papers he was carrying. Then Arthur crossed the room and sat down.

'Gentlemen, thank you for coming in good time,' Arthur said after a moment. 'There is much to discuss. Geoffrey and Gaius – you, of course, are aware of the issue at hand. The rest of you will be informed in due course. This meeting is to discuss an extremely important matter which may impact the future of Camelot; it is a difficult problem that faces us, and I turn to you to aid me in my solution. Perhaps it will not require something so radical as a quest –' he hung on the word; Merlin noticed that both Geoffrey and Gaius exchanged weary glances, while the knights' eyes twinkled rather '– but should it come to that, I know I have chosen men upon whom I can rely when the time comes.'

He was stalling, and he was well aware of that fact; with a glance towards Merlin, to which Merlin responded with a somewhat impatient raised eyebrow, he pulled out the first of the scrolls, the one that featured the prophecy.

'Yesterday, Geoffrey of Monmouth found this scroll in the Hall of Records. He as well as the rest of us was unaware of its presence and of its contents; according to Gaius, it seems to be the origins of an old legend that has made its way into fairy-story; however, without knowing the origins of the document, it is difficult to know what is truth and what is invention. I am going to ask Geoffrey to read in translation the second and final paragraphs.'

And Geoffrey did; in his quavering voice, which entirely suited the mystery, he informed the knights of the prophecy, the Grail, and the apparent doom which faced Camelot, if nothing was done to restore the artefact to the city. As was to be expected, the reading was followed by widespread bewilderment.

Arthur thanked Geoffrey, and took back the scroll; then he pulled out a sheet of vellum, and pointed out a scrawled paragraph near the bottom, which his audience couldn't read from that distance; and so, paraphrasing, he said:

'After much searching, we have managed to locate a fragment that hints at the location of the Grail. According to this document, it is in the Frankish kingdoms, in the hands of a witch called Viviane. The name Viviane is not unique to this document. She is associated with Brocéliande Forest, which, being in the far north-west of the mainland continent, is not a huge distance from here, and should be reachable within a few weeks at the most. Even if the Grail is not in the forest, it seems that our best hope would be to find Viviane and question her about it.'

'What do you hope to get out of a witch?' asked Leon. 'Even if she isn't in possession of the Grail, she may well be powerful.'

'This is why I have called this meeting,' said Arthur: 'it is to be decided if we will go at all; and then there are the particulars to discuss. I have a few ideas myself but I'd like to hear others' opinions on the matter.'

Merlin raised his eyebrow in a gesture that everyone except Arthur saw, indicating that Arthur did not in fact have any ideas of his own, or at least none of any consequence; Gwaine stifled a laugh, and smiles flickered on a couple of the others' faces.

But Arthur's request went at first without response: the knights were still reeling a little from the strangeness of the story they had just heard, and hardly in a position to think straight. Yet they thought, and Arthur waited; and at last Gwaine said, a little haphazardly:

'I say we go. We haven't got anything to lose, if we're careful.'

There was a murmur of vague agreement around the table.

'We've been on difficult expeditions before,' he continued: 'and it's not like we haven't faced magicians before.'

'It's our duty to Camelot,' added Elyan, thinking. 'I'm with Arthur. I think there's a possibility that there's some truth in the matter. It's worth stopping the threat, if there is one.'

'That's sorted, then,' said Arthur, too quickly, breaking the illusion that there had ever been any democracy. 'Now: I don't expect Geoffrey and Gaius to come with us – unless they want to,' he said, trying to joke; Gaius however replied:

'I would, sire, if the journey weren't so far; I would only hinder you.'

Arthur waved a hand vaguely. 'I don't doubt your loyalty. However, the cover I have created is a minor official visit to Deira. That will explain my own absence; Merlin of course will have to come –'

Gwaine and Percival exchanged amused glances; Arthur looked from one to the other for a second, uncomprehending, and then continued:

'And, in effect, I have already chosen my knights, for it is you who are at this meeting whom I invite to come. If you do not wish to, that is your choice and I respect it.'

'Oh! I'm not missing this,' said Gwaine at once.

'I will come,' said Leon, and Percival and Elyan nodded.

'My worry is that it won't be enough people,' said Arthur, 'but at the same time, I don't want us to be an obvious company. And this witch Viviane will feel less threatened by a smaller group, and hopefully will not see us as a threat. What do you think?'

'I think you're taking a good many risks,' put in Gaius: 'but I do see your reasoning.'

'I doubt this Viviane will have an army behind her,' said Percival.

'Very well,' said Arthur: 'that, too, is settled.'

It seemed to Merlin that everything was going too quickly, but that was Arthur, when he was fixated on something; Merlin's only relief in times such as these was his own magic, which, though he didn't like to boast, he knew would be protection enough, if he should need to use it. It was perhaps his use of magic in previous expeditions that gave Arthur the impression that they were a singularly formidable little band, stronger than anyone they came up against.

The discussion moved to more generic matters, like how much to pack, and which routes they would take; at last there came the question of when to depart, to which Arthur's unpopular response was 'tomorrow morning'.

'That's going to look suspicious,' said Merlin. 'At least put out the Deira story first.'

'You're right,' considered Arthur, rubbing his temple. He didn't want to admit that the threat to the kingdom was really getting to him; he wanted to act at once; he felt as if he was already too late. 'I'll put out the story at once; then in two days we must be ready to depart.'

The meeting was as good as over; a lot seemed to have been decided, but in truth Arthur had already decided everything beforehand, and everyone had just agreed to it, as everyone was wont to do. These were, after all, knights of Camelot: bold, brave and a little overly patriotic. Merlin was a little more reticent, but his opinion didn't tend to count for much, so he just smiled, and began in his head to go over the spells he thought would be most useful. He wondered what Viviane was capable of; he was sure she couldn't be more talented in magic than he was, but there was always that chance, despite what Kilgharrah had always said about him being the greatest magician who had ever lived.

So he smiled; and everyone went over the plans once more, quickly; and when they stood up to leave, it was with a certain optimism, a certain courage in their hearts: their mission would be interesting, at the least, and a distraction from the growing boredom. Perhaps they had all forgotten the implications of the Grail – that magic in some form would be returned to Camelot. No, it seemed that their mission was to disprove a fairy-story, or find some easier solution, and that they would be finished in a few weeks, and all would be well.

* * *

It was however when Merlin and Arthur were returning through the corridors that they were approached by one of the kitchen-servants: it transpired that the maid Philippa had last been seen heading towards the Great Hall, but for half an hour had been nowhere to be found.

* * *

 **Oh! Gods, is that the time? Well! We certainly leave Camelot in a predicament and a half, but I assure you that the threads will all be tied up. Well, mostly. Perhaps. – No, my dear girl, I am not making it up as I go along. You are becoming tiresome. – Leastways, I hope I shall see you all back again when I next continue this tale. Yes, even you.**


End file.
